What's Left
by DamaDeHonor
Summary: Dean's son has a new partner, but can he trust him? Continuation to VesperRegina's "like a coin that won't get tossed." Future fic, character deaths.
1. What's Left

**Note:** Dedicated to **poestheblackcat** for encouraging the idea of writing another take of the "Last Death" story. ^-^ This one comes right after my sister, **VesperRegina**'s, "like a coin that won't get tossed." (You might wanna read that first.)

Thanks for reading it beforehand and the little edit, Bambina. :D

**Season:** Up to Season 3, but not any huge spoilers.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the show... wouldn't that be weird.

- - -

**"What's Left"  
**

Rob was eighteen now. Too young to do anything, too old not to want to.

Which was why he'd gone to the hunter's hotspot, looking for a partner. John Sullivan wasn't the best pick, maybe, but there was something familiar about him that had drawn Rob.

Only, now he was lying at the bottom of a basement, with a broken rib, waiting for a man, he wasn't sure he trusted, to come get him out. He was losing consciousness every few minutes, blinking in and out, thinking of how he'd gotten to that place.

It'd turned out that Sullivan was already in the middle of a hunt when they'd joined up. A ghost-infested house, or something. They'd gone to check out the old relic and found that the ghosts weren't just your average stock. First thing they did was separate Rob and Sullivan, then bad got worse.

Rob went down to check out the kitchen, and a bloody, armless woman had attacked him. He'd fired his rifle, and she'd knocked him over. When he fell, he went through the floor all the way to the basement.

She must have decided he wasn't a threat after that because he hadn't caught sight of her again. Well, there was a little blood blocking his vision, but he didn't think that was it. Nah, she'd definitely crossed him off her list.

Sullivan finally came. Rob couldn't remember seeing him climb down into the rubble, but there he was now, pulling him out. "Hey..."

"Stupid kid."

He put Rob's arm over his shoulder and helped him to his feet.

- - -

Rob thought maybe he was going to drop him as his partner, but John just told him gruffly, "Don't mess up again," and dropped him off in front of Bobby's.

He managed to make it up the steps without passing out again, but when he got inside and tried to sneak up the stairs without anyone noticing, Bobby yelled, "Robert Samuel! Where the heck do you think you're going?"

He closed his eyes and froze. Crap. Slowly, he turned around on the step, trying not to be too obvious about holding his side. He'd cleaned up the gash under his hair a bit, but it was still going to be extremely obvious.

"The crap...?" Bobby muttered. "Where've you been?" was actually the first question, though.

He decided lying wasn't gonna get him anywhere in this situation, so he tried anger on for size instead. "Hunting."

Bobby stared at him for a second. "Are you out of your danged mind?"

"What else am I 'sposed to do, Bobby? Mom's a hunter! Dad was a hunter. Even my freakin' uncle was! Even my *_grandparents* _and _*their*_ parents!"

His gramps looked like he was about to smack some sense into him, but instead he went and wrestled him over to the couch. "Your mama sees you like this, and she's gonna cry. I don't know what the heck you think this is gonna accomplish, but every single one of those people you used as an excuse is _*dead*_ now, except your mom and me. So you better think real hard about what you're getting yourself into."

Rob lowered his head. "I'm gonna get some stuff to clean you up. Just... stay put. And don't go to sleep! You have a concussion... idiot kid..."

He was wrong, Rob wanted to say. But he couldn't. Mostly because he was right.

- - -

By the time Jo got home, Rob was pretty much looking normal, except for the bandaid under his short bangs. He wasn't trying to hide it, but then again... if she just didn't notice, that'd be good too.

"Rob..." she said, when she finally relaxed enough to look at him. Waitressing took a lot out of her. "I'm gonna kill you, baby," she muttered, and stroked his face. "I've been wondering how long it'd take you to go off and do this. I'm just going to ask one thing. Are you sure?"

It wasn't what he'd been expecting. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Bobby leaning back in his chair, and staring. "Yeah... I'm working with a pro. He knows what he's doing, Mom. I swear."

She bit her lip, and sat down next to him at the table. "Who is he? I might know him."

"John Sullivan."

Bobby's chair scraped back, suddenly, and both he and Jo turned to look up at him. "You idgit boy," he said, softly.

"What?" both Jo and Rob asked at the same time.

"Sullivan is a crazy, from what I hear. You have some luck, son."

"Bobby," Jo chided.

"Who's the oldest and wisest here?" he retorted.

Jo sighed and turned back to her son. "Rob, maybe...?"

"Mom, I'm not an idiot. John is okay. He's a little... you know," he made a wavy hand-motion, "But he watches my back. Just... what happened this time, we got separated. If it wasn't for that--"

"All right, all right," she said and gripped his shoulder. "Just be careful, okay?"

"Okay. I promise." He felt a sense of relief, almost joy. Even Bobby didn't look so set against it now. "Thanks, Mom."

She sighed and shook her head. "That doesn't mean I'm okay with it, Rob. But I'd rather you didn't go off and try to do this on your own. I'll back you up all the way if it means not losing you..." She trailed off, and he wondered if she was thinking, _'... sooner than later.'_

- - -

"My Grandpa thinks you're nuts," Rob said out of nowhere, a half-week later.

John looked at him slowly, a strange turn of the head that reminded him of the _Exorcist_. They were sitting in John's truck, on a stakeout. It was probably John's version of taking it slow. No more mistakes after that first misstep.

He didn't want to be babied, but somewhere in the back of his head, he felt a little relieved. "You live at home?"

"Yeah, with my mom too." It came out a little defensively.

"No problem with that..." John looked back to the house. "Sometimes, I dream about this man. I think he was my brother."

"What? You don't remember?"

The sideways look again. "No... Nothing from before twenty-or-so years ago."

"Do you know what happened?" Now he felt like he was prying, but he couldn't stop himself. John was a big, fat enigma that he couldn't help but want to puzzle out.

"I went to a psychic. She said maybe I got burned-out somehow. Used too much power all at once, or something like that. She said it'd be better if I just left it alone." He shrugged. "But certain things follow a man, I guess."

"And what about the man? The one in your dreams?"

John's jaw clenched, and Rob knew that was the end of _*that*_ conversation. So he asked instead, "Hey... Maybe if you come over, my mom and Bobby can see that you're okay?"

Sullivan looked at him like he had demon-eyes. "I'm not the Sunday barbecue type, if you hadn't noticed." His voice was practically dripping sarcasm.

"I get that, but... as a favor to me. It'd sure put their minds at ease, y'know?"

There was silence for a bit, then the lights around the house started going crazy, blinking on and off erratically. "Come on," John ordered and got out of the truck, slamming the door behind him.

- - -

When John was driving him home, two black eyes and drying blood under his nose from where he'd taken a hit for Rob, he asked, "Invitation still open?"

Rob refrained from acting like the little kid he still sometimes felt like. "Sure," he said, in his deepest voice. "Why not tonight?"

John looked uncomfortable. "Tomorrow night. I'm pretty sure I'd scare your folks if I walk in as I am now."

He chuckled nervously in agreement. He wanted to tease a little, but he didn't lie to himself. He was still kind of intimidated by his partner. Maybe a little healthy respect wasn't a bad thing, though.

He just hoped his mom and Bobby would see it that way.

- - -

He went to find John at his motel when the next day rolled around, but he wasn't there. Frustrated, he kicked the door, then stood and thought about it for a moment. Where would he have gone?

It occurred to him that maybe he'd pushed too hard, and the hunter had finally ditched him. But even if he'd ditched him, that didn't necessarily mean he was gone yet.

He got back in the truck and drove to the nearest bar. It didn't take him long to spot the dark, shaggy head that was far above the rest. He strode straight to him and demanded, "Why are you here?"

John looked at him, for a moment seeming as if he was about to take Rob's head off with a swipe of his arm, then he relaxed. "Oh... it's you," he mumbled, and turned back to his drink.

"Are you comin' or what? You promised, man."

"What are you, my mother?" He wasn't angry, just annoyed.

"I already told Mom and Bobby you'd be there. She made supper for you, idiot."

John looked mildly contrite. "Tell her I'm sorry..."

"Tell her yourself!"

Someone behind him chuckled, and Rob turned to glare at them. The man held up his hand and said, "Your old man's a drunk, kid. You're better off without him."

Rob's temper flared, and he grabbed John by the arm and yanked him. "You're comin' whether you like it or not."

"Fine, fine... just let me put my drink down, first, D--Rob."

They were almost back to Bobby's when it finally registered. "Hey, uh, John, what were you gonna call me back there?"

John frowned at him. "Wha'd'you mean?"

"You started to call me a name that started with a 'D'. What was it?"

"Oh..." John shrugged. "I don't remember. It was on the tip of my tongue, but it's gone now."

Rob was quiet, a shiver running down his spine. Sometimes Bobby would start to yell at him, and he'd stumble over a few familiar names, first. One of them was his dad's.

Dean.

- - -

John was almost sober when they arrived. But Rob still tried to straighten out his wrinkled, plaid shirt for him before they went in. He got his hand knocked away for his efforts. "What is this? A date?"

Blushing, he muttered as he started up to the house, "You're not touching my mom, and you're sure as heck not _*my*_ boyfriend."

"Hahah," John said, dryly. Why was it that old people always seemed to have abnormally good hearing?

Ears flaming, he opened the door and went in. John followed behind him, and Rob was already saying before he got to where Jo and Bobby were waiting in the kitchen, "Mom, Grampa Bobby, this is John Sullivan."

He entered, and turned to watch John shuffling in behind. He had to duck his head as he came through the kitchen doorway, he was that tall. Bobby stood up, mouth gaping, and Jo turned from the sink and immediately dropped a plate.

"Oh, my God."

John looked like he was even more spooked than the other two. "Hey... uh, what's going on?" Rob tried, but his question went unnoticed.

"Sam...?" Bobby said, coming around the table. He reached for John, and John took a step back.

Rob stared as Bobby gripped John's arms. "Sam, don't you remember me?"

"I've never met you--" John started to say.

Bobby shook him a little. "Come on, Sammy, do you think I'm yanking your chain or something? You must remember _*somethin'*_!"

Jo stepped over the bits of plate and pulled Bobby away from John. "Stop... That's enough."

He moved away, trembling, and sank into the nearest chair. Jo asked John, "You really don't know?"

"You think I'm this guy, 'Sam'?"

"Rob's uncle," she answered, "Your brother was Dean Winchester. My husband."

John glanced at Rob and frowned. He'd told him his name was Rob Colt.

"Mom..." Rob said, finally, "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "How far back does your memory go?"

"How did you...? Never mind. So, *_I'm*_ the infamous Sam Winchester?" He scoffed. "I shoulda known."

Jo chewed on her lip, shrugged, finally took a breath and said, "I can tell we have a lot to talk about, so why don't we all take a seat?"

- - -

"So, it seems like you should be asking _*me*_ this," John began, awkwardly, "But... what was Dean like?"

They were out on the porch swing now, the long discussion finally over.

The swing had been redone and repainted a long time ago for Jo, sometime after she and Dean had gotten married. "A complete dork... well, that's the first thing Mom says. Then she gets nostalgic and says stuff like, 'hero' and 'great dad'..."

"Hmm."

"I don't know." Rob looked out over the lot. The lowering sun was striking the old, rusting cars in a way that was almost beautiful. "He got... He died when I was eight or nine. All I remember now is..." ...the way he smiled or... His jeans. His car. The smell of his deodorant. The way he'd picked Rob up and swung him around until he got dizzy. He didn't say any of that aloud. Instead he chuckled at himself. "The stupid, little stuff, I guess."

"Mm," John said, "That's okay... I know what you mean. Sometimes... I almost think I remember my father. Just glimpses of stuff. Weird, but what I remember most was this old, leather jacket." He shook himself. "Well, no more philosophy for today. I'm too old for crap like that."

"No, *_Bobby's*_ too old for crap like that. You're just too old."

John thwapped the back of his head as he rose to his feet and started down the steps. "I'm too old for you to be messing with me."

"Right." He got up too, all the while grinning.

John waved at him. "Practice your sparring. Your reflexes need sharpening. I don't want a liability--"

"I got it, I got it!"

His uncle stopped and appraised him. "You know what? I think you look like him a little."

Rob swallowed a lump in his throat. "That much I remember."

- the end -


	2. Experience

**Note:** I had a little trouble getting started, so I had my sister give me a prompt. "Rawhide. Midnight." (It was a typo.) LOL. So, after we got through being silly, I wrote about 'rawhead, midnight, and cows.' XD

**Season:** Hypothetically after the show. AU.

**Spoilers:** "Faith" and "Everybody Loves a Clown"

- - -

**"Experience"**

Rob was afraid of the dark. He would never let on to anyone, especially Grandpa Bobby or Mom, but he'd never quite gotten over the childish fear.

He couldn't stand in complete darkness for more than a few minutes without feeling a prickling antsy sensation at the back of his neck. It was why he didn't like to be in enclosed, dark spaces. When he was young, he'd avoided dark closets and tunnels. He'd been afraid of getting stuck, which was dumb, but he'd been a kid.

Now he was eighteen, but he still couldn't quite get used to sitting alone in the dark.

So when he saw the paper, the story about a kid who'd gone missing on a ranch, and the report that there was no way it could've been a break-in. Something must have gotten in some other way, was his first thought, and his second was, _'Something.'_

He didn't get the sense that it was a hunter kind of job very often, but he was getting it loud and clear then. The problem was, Uncle John didn't want to go. No chance, he said. It was too dangerous, he said. Or, it was probably nothing, anyway, he put the nails on the coffin.

But Rob couldn't get it out of his head, some little boy stuck in a dark room somewhere...

He couldn't just let this one go, and he knew it was stupid when he did it, but he went.

It was a long drive, but he didn't stop at a motel. He just parked on the side of the rode when he got tired and napped for a few hours. He stopped for gas and snacks, and then went on. He got to the ranch sometime in the early morning.

Some cows eyed him when he got out of the truck and started down the lane. He'd parked far away from the house, but not too far. It felt somehow intrusive to park up front like he did at Bobby's.

He knocked on the door, glancing around as he waited. After a moment, it opened, and a young woman looked up at him. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but they met his squarely and didn't waver. "Yes?"

"Hi..." He cleared his throat and offered her an apologetic half-smile. "My name is Rob Colt. You don't know me but..." Here it came, the big whopper. "... I had a vision. About your son."

She looked far from believing, and he sensed the imminent shutting of the door. "I don't expect you to believe me, but would you let me ask you a few questions? I'm not looking for money, or anything like that."

Now she looked reluctant, but the door was still open. He threw in a bit of truth--"I saw him in a dark place... But I believe he's still alive."

She didn't look completely convinced, but maybe she'd decided he was harmless. "Come in..."

"Thank you."

She led him to a dreary living room, curtains all drawn, lighting dim, and motioned toward an ugly orange and brown couch. He sat awkwardly, then waited for her to settle into an armchair. "Well?" she asked, and he jumped a little.

She had her arms around herself, leaning slightly forward like her stomach pained her. He took that as defensive, and tred carefully. "When did you see your son last, Mrs. Farnsworth?"

"The night before he disappeared. There was no sign, nothing. The next morning, he was just gone."

"No sounds?" Rob couldn't figure it out. If it was something, even something would've given a sign.

She started to shake her head then stopped. "The pipes have been acting up. It doesn't fit in, but... they've been sounding awful lately. Then Pete goes missing and... nothing. It's an old house, but that doesn't explain it."

_'In the dark...'_ drifted through Rob's skull and rattled around. The pipes. "In the kitchen?"

She tilted her head, long, blond hair brushing over one shoulder. "Well, the bathroom too... How did you...?" She looked like she might be reconsidering believing him, now.

"I promise to find your son," he said, an intensity in his voice he'd never heard before. More stupidity, he realized, but he knew she wouldn't take his word for it, anyway.

She just nodded. As he rose, she got up and held out her hand to him. He blinked and took it, and she squeezed then let go. She walked him to the door, and he felt helpless and way too young, as she let him out onto the front porch.

But at least now he knew what he was looking for. A rawhead.

- - -

He finally tracked it to its den.

The stench nearly made him vomit, but somehow he held it down. Something like the odor of a clogged sink, mixed with dead rat. One arm over his mouth and nose, and the other aiming the taser in front of him, he climbed down into the old cellar and tried not to break his neck while he was at it.

One stair creaked and he froze. The hairs on his arms and the back of his neck all stood on end. His heart beat so loud he couldn't hear himself breathe.

A minute later, he started forward again, downward... It was pitch black, and he tried to breathe through his mouth so he could point the flashlight in front of him.

He was at the bottom step, finally, and turned slowly, shining his flashlight into the dark. Nothing in a dim corner, old crates piled crookedly, a cobweb stretched between. He swept the light to his left, and jumped.

_'Crap!'_ It was just an old coat, hanging from a nail on the wall. He started to turn back to his right, to swing the light around with him, and that's when it hit.

The light went skidding across the floor, casting frightening shadows as the monster came at him. He'd managed to keep hold of the taser and tried to fire. It was knocked from his hand and clattered against the cold cement.

He was grabbed and his head was bashed against that same substance, and he thought for sure that this was it. No more Rob. And everything went black, confirming his suspicion.

- - -

"He what?!"

Jo winced. Sam... John--he preferred it and she was gonna have to get used to it--was none to happy about her son skipping out on his own. She was worried sick too, but she'd seen it coming a mile off. He was more like her than he was Dean, actually.

Dean tried to follow rules that nobody even cared about anymore, while she'd always known they were too weak to need breaking. What good did rules do? You still got hurt in the long run, so why waste your time living in fear?

But she'd loved him for his steadfastness. He didn't easily waver from his beliefs, and he never gave up on the ones he loved.

So she'd hoped Rob would be more like him than her, but maybe he'd gotten a streak of Sam in him too.

"He can take care of himself, John," she said, gently, "But if it helps, I know where he went."

John stopped clenching his jaw so hard. "Where?"

Jo smiled. She didn't feel so worried, now.

- - -

It was dark when he cracked open his eyes. So dark he couldn't even see the hand he managed to lift in front of his face. Something was wrong with his other arm. It stabbed painfully when he tried to move it, so he stopped.

He touched his face, and felt blood. He touched his head, and hissed. That was where the blood was coming from.

He sat up, gingerly, and tried to figure out where he was. His heart began to pick up speed when he couldn't readily find a wall. Then it started beating even faster when he did. Because the door was locked, and the room was about five feet by four. Some kind of storage closet.

He jerked on the door, using his good hand, then cried out when injured arm protested anyway. He sat back down and placed his back against the wall. Why couldn't he get enough air?

_'You're a candle in the window... on a cold dark winter's night...'_ Some lines from a song ran through his mind, and he tried to remember the rest. Some familiar voice singing it to him as he fell asleep in the backseat of a big, black car.

_'God, I'm an idiot. I'm a danged idiot!'_ He'd come to rescue some kid, and gotten himself locked up and near-dead. There was no chance he was getting out of this alive.

A noise emerged from the other side of the door, and he shrank back against the wall. He couldn't even will his hand out to fumble around for some kind of weapon.

_'Weapon...'_

His mom's dagger. He'd brought it with him just in case. He'd blanked because of fear. He dug it out of his boot sheath, and sat there, clenching it and staring at the door, trying not to blink.

He was getting light-headed from hyperventilating. Or maybe it was the head injury... He tried to steady his breath by mentally singing.

Another sound--crying. The boy? He rose to his feet with a pathetic, broken lurch and yelled through the door, "Leave him alone! You hear me? Leave him alone!"

The crying stopped, and his door flew open, suddenly. He was starting to think he had no self-preservation instinct.

He couldn't see, still, and stumbled back against the wall. There was a loud growl, and a blur of non-movement. Rob stabbed blindly with the knife, but ended up flattened against the floor. It'd been strangely patient before, but now he was sure it was going to kill him.

He still fought it. But he'd lost the dagger, and his arm was broke. He didn't have much of a chance. But he knew his mom would reanimate his corpse just to kick his butt if he didn't at least give it all he had.

So he punched and kicked wildly, trying to find something to hit, even if it didn't cause a dent.

His knee struck something, and the rawhead made a noise that was possibly a grunt of pain. But it still grabbed him by the hair and hauled him back into the closet. The door slammed shut, and Rob tested the knob, only to find it locked again.

As he sank to the floor, he realized why it hadn't killed him outright, and he had to laugh a little. It hurt his newly busted side, but he couldn't help it.

It was because he wasn't an adult yet. At least not in *_its*_ eyes.

- - -

It didn't take John much time to find out it was a rawhead, to track it down, to figure out a plan of attack.

But this was Rob, and he hesitated in actually playing it out. What if something went wrong? What if the kid got hurt? What if...?

He didn't complete the last thought. It was better to deal with the situation as if Rob were still alive and in need of help. If he gave up, then it was as good as finished.

The smell reminded him of something. At first, he thought it was just the old, dead animal stench that was familiar. But then as he paused on a creaky stair, he realized. It was from before.

This intangible, half-_deja vu _feeling of having done something or been somewhere before.

And it was because he *_had*_ done it before--in that other life. The one where he was Sam Winchester. He ignored the memory and pushed on, keeping his his flashlight shielded with the same hand in which he held the taser.

It didn't take long for things to get ugly. The beast knocked him clear across the room, and he would've lost the taser if it wasn't for his death grip on it. He'd been prepared for an attack; he was always prepared.

It came at him, and he fired. It shook in place, jerkily, for a moment before keeling over. John pushed up against the wall to aid him in getting to his feet. He wasn't as young as he used to be.

"Rob?" he called, and shone his flashlight around. There were a couple doors.... right next to each other. He tried the first one and shone the light in, afraid of what he'd find. There was a little boy, about ten, balled up in a corner.

John knelt and held out his hand, "Hey, it's all right, come on." The kid blinked at him a few times and then hurled himself into John's arms.

He lifted and carried him out, and then took a breath before he tried the other door. Rob.

He was unconscious, or asleep, John wasn't sure. And something flashed in his brain, a figure, limp and near-death. _'Sam, get 'em outta here!'_ He wasn't sure whose voice it was, but he could guess.

He'd heard it before in his dreams.

"Rob," he called, and had to set the boy down when he didn't respond. Pete clung to his leg, but not too much that he couldn't kneel and inspect his nephew.

A broken arm, probably not the only thing. His blond hair was matted with blood, and face was swollen and bruised. When John touched it, there was no response.

He shook the young man's shoulder, all the while thinking, _'I shoulda never taken him on. It made him cocky, and now he's got himself hurt. I shoulda just sent him home to his mom. Stupid kid. Stupid kid...'_

Rob's eyes came open, finally, drooping like they were too heavy to lift. "Dad?"

"No, your uncle, kid. John." At least he was alive.

"Dad..." Rob said again. "Where'm I?"

_'Concussion?'_ John thought, _'We must sound the same. Me and Dean.'_

"Come on, help me get you up. You're no good like this."

"Mom's knife... Dad, she'll be ticked at me..."

John glanced around, shining his light here and there. He spotted the knife, laying beside the rawhead and figured the creature must've kept it for a souvenir. He lifted the kid and went to get it, scooped it up and let the kid down, asking, "Can you help me, Pete?"

His little chin quivered as he nodded bravely. John helped Rob to his feet, and Pete pushed from the other side.

- - -

Rob was fine staying at the hospital, something that surprised John for some reason. He thought it probably hearkened back to the good old days. Something having to do with his brother or dad... maybe even both.

But the doctor bandaged him up, declared him with no internal injuries a day later, and they were back on their way to Bobby's.

John decided to stop at a motel because of Rob's injuries. He was sleeping a lot, and not talking, something that spooked John more than the sleeping. Little glimpses of another time kept crowding in. He was remembering more and more, but it was all out of order, confusing, jumbled.

Dean had talked and talked, about anything, everything, and when he'd got done talking, that was a bad sign.

Rob was a little different. He was still nervous around John, and held back a lot. But he talked like he was happy to be talking, happy to have someone to talk to. When he didn't talk, it was because he was processing, absorbing, trying to figure things out.

But he always started over again, not too long after he stopped. He was like a puppy that got scolded for jumping up on a leg. He behaved for a moment or two, then went right back to jumping.

But now he was so quiet, the truck sounded loud. Not as loud as a certain car, but deafening because of the implications.

The motel was nice, and John wasn't sorry he'd decided to stop. Rob let him pry him out of the car and walk him into their room.

He got him situated on his own bed then went to wash off the stink of the rawhead's lair.

- - -

It was midnight when he woke up, and realized Rob was lurching toward the door. He jerked it open like he couldn't get out fast enough, and John went after him, and found him outside retching onto the pavement.

He caught him and supported him so he wouldn't topple over, and maneuvered him over to the wall of the motel. "Do you feel sick?" He demanded, and felt the youth's forehead. He was a little warm, but nothing near a fever.

"Can't... breathe..."

"Your rib?" he asked, sharply, but Rob shook his head, wouldn't look at him.

"Hey, focus here!" He grabbed his chin and made him look him in the eye. "What's goin' on?"

"It's too dark... in the room..." He was breathing a little better now, not-quite hyperventilating. He looked pale, but maybe it was just the moonlight.

"You've got to pull it together, son," he said, more gently. "Are you claustrophobic?"

Rob laughed a little, almost frantically. "Not before..."

John swore mentally. The closet. He'd been holed up in there for at least a day and a night. If he'd had any fear of the dark beforehand, now he had to be dealing with some major phobia.

"Come on, you can't sleep out here," he said, "You've gotta face your fears."

"Uncle John...?" He was resisting.

"Yeah?"

"Stay up with me? Just for a little while?"

John remembered Dean, holding him up a thousand times before, asking him to speak, to talk about things, to not keep secrets. He never left, even when Sam did. But he went back because he knew one thing. Dean wouldn't ever turn his back on him; he'd always be there. So he couldn't turn away either. No matter what their differences, no matter their weaknesses--they always stuck together.

"Just come inside first, son. We'll take it a step at a time."

Rob's breath caught in something like a sob, and he nodded. John helped him through the door and back to his bed. He sat with him in the dark for about an hour, and midnight became early morning, and Rob finally stopped shivering and fell asleep.

- end -


	3. Skeletons in the Closet

**Note:** This time I didn't have any prompts. Can you believe that? Just read the story and you will. Heheh. I like to think I dance to the beat of my own drummer, but I actually just ate mushrooms when I was a baby... :D

Also, this is the last chapter to this strange AU story. I think. ;)

**Dedication:** Did I mention, all the whole story, not just the first chapter is for **poestheblackcat**. You are interesting and awesome, and very funny indeed. I hope you enjoy this, even though it doesn't feature Rob as much. Sorry 'bout that. It wasn't my intention... or was it? Muhahahah... *ahem.*

Also, thanks to **VesperRegina** for helping me pick a name for the female oc. We had a little fun playing raffle to figure out her name. It's Gaelic, and means "dark."

**Spoilers:** Pilot.

**Disclaimer:** Right about here, I should say, "I don't own Supernatural, and no infringement intended." But who actually thinks I do, raise your hand. No, no, put your hand down over there. ^-^;;;

- - -

**"Skeletons in the Closet"**

Keira watched from a distance, eyes glued to the door of their house, sunk low in the seat of the car. She knew this was a bad idea, all around, but telling her feelings to take a backseat wasn't happening this time.

When she'd been growing up, her mother had always told her, "It's not that it was a mistake, hon, but I wish things had turned out different."

She was talking about Keira's father. He'd been one of those men, according to her mother, that had something big to do, something that wouldn't let him stay in one place. So she'd known it wasn't going anywhere, but she _*hadn't*_ known she was going to get pregnant.

She _*had*_ known what the something was that wouldn't let him stay. And she'd finally told her daughter.

"He's a hunter. And that doesn't mean 'big-game.' Unless you count ghosts."

"What? Ghosts? Come on," were probably her exact words.

"Really." She'd stared. When her mother, the reporter, said something was true, it most likely was.

Her stepfather was great, but she'd already been older when her mother finally married. Maybe that was why she still had that yearning to find her father. It wasn't like she thought he'd be this great guy. In fact, she kinda hated him.

He'd gone and gotten her mom pregnant then skipped town without any way for her to get in contact with him but a cell phone number. Who was going to call a cell phone and leave a message, "Hey, I'm pregnant. Can we talk?" It didn't make sense for her mother to have done that.

Cassie had put it pretty simply, "It wouldn't have been fair to him."

She'd learned a little something from her mother about research though, and when she was twenty, she'd packed up some things and followed up a lead. Left Missouri behind.

The road had taken her to a hunter's bar first, and from there she'd learned quite a few things that had made her feel more afraid and safer at the same time. More afraid, because now she knew what was out there, and less, because she could prepare for it just in case.

It wasn't like she was looking for trouble, but looking for her father was nearly the same thing, wasn't it? So she purchased a gun and some silver bullets for it, and started putting salt around her motel room doors and windows. Eventually, she got herself a rifle and rocksalt. She hoped she wouldn't have to use it.

"Keir," her mom said, right before she left, "Don't go. It's not safe."

She'd wanted to cry right then, but she'd shaken her head and said as cheerfully as possible, "I'll be fine, Mom. Don't worry." And she'd kissed her and hugged her and walked out the door.

A few months into her search, she found the car. It was in a junkyard in Idaho. "Sweeet," she'd heard herself say, as she ran her fingers along its hood. They'd come away with a coating of dust, leaving a streak of black behind. Poor, busted creature.

It'd been his. The man who had it said it was haunted. Said there was a woman who came and leaned against it on the palest of nights. Said the man that left it was disoriented and confused, didn't even ask for cash, wandered away.

She'd talked to some hunters about it beforehand. They said that'd probably been Sam Winchester. No one knew what happened to him after that.

Keira had taken the car. She'd had it worked on, even learned how to work on it herself. She couldn't have this beautiful car and let it get all busted up again. The Impala wasn't haunted... per se.

Sometimes, when she wanted to go one way, the steering wheel suddenly got jammed. Or she'd try to speed up, and out of nowhere, it'd slow down. And usually, up ahead, or down the street, some idiot would come whizzing by and she'd sit there thinking, _'Oh, my God... That would've been me. James Dean'd.'_

And she'd pat the car and smile to herself. "Thanks, baby."

Once, she tried to go into a city, somewhere she was sure would bring a new lead on her father. The Impala had completely stalled. She'd had to get it towed into the nearest town. Then the mechanic said that it was fine, nothing wrong with it. Didn't hurt his conscience any to make her fork over a couple hundred though.

So she'd tried again. And this time, it'd zoomed past like the city didn't even exist. On the other side, she'd sat hyperventilating, wondering if she should go see a priest.

But she hadn't, and the car had brought her here. The last place Dean Winchester was seen. He'd been married. To a woman named Jo Harvelle. He'd had a son, a little boy... Robert Samuel.

Her half-brother.

The door to the house finally opened, and a young man with dark-blond hair came trotting out onto the porch, then down the steps. It looked like he was heading out somewhere. She watched him get in a truck and drive through the yard and out onto the main street.

The car purred into life, and quickly followed after when Keira shifted into drive.

They ended up at a bar, big surprise there. The majority of hunters she'd met hung out in bars. It was a good place to gather, regroup, get information, find a next job. Or just plain get good and drunk after the job was through.

The first time she'd seen a hunter crying in his cups, she'd felt poignantly sympathetic for her father. She hadn't hated him at that moment.

Her heart thudded in her breast, as she emerged from the Impala. She slammed the door behind her and headed toward the bar into which Rob had disappeared.

He was with a tall guy, one with sort of longish dark hair, parted toward the middle. She thought he seemed familiar, but she didn't know why.

She sat down at the bar, and ordered a beer. She wasn't planning to drink it. A guy sat next to her, and leaned in to flirt in her ear. "You alone, baby?"

"Happily," she told him, with a sharp smile. He was drunk and tried to put his arm around her.

She elbowed him, and got up to move somewhere else, but he grabbed her arm. "Let go," she warned, ready to knee him somewhere uncomfortable, but a hand came down on his wrist and squeezed. She felt relieved, as the drunk gave the tall man a dirty look before wandering away.

"Are you okay?"

She looked up... up. "Yeah... I could've taken care of that myself, though."

He was old and wise enough to scoff. "You sound like someone I used to know."

It was then that it hit her. Sam Winchester. She had a paper clipping of him in her journal. "H-Hi," she said, "I'm Keira." She held out her hand.

He took it. "John Sullivan." So that's how he'd gotten lost.

Rob came up behind him, and Keira's eyes were riveted. "Hi," he said, and she smiled. He stared at her.

She couldn't just say it though. 'Hey, I'm your sister.' So instead, she repeated, dumbly, "I'm Keira. Sometimes Keir."

"Not Kei?" Rob asked. There was some definite teasing there.

She blushed. "No... I don't like that nickname."

"It's kinda pretty, though." Mischief.

She pulled a face. He stepped closer. "Are you Hispanic?"

"No, some black, a bit more white."

They were nearly face to face, now. "I gotta say, you're beautiful. And way too young for my uncle, here."

Oh, boy. "I'm your half-sister," she blurted out. Rob took a step back. John moved closer.

"Wait, before you say any more, we can't talk here. I wasn't exactly Mr. Popularity back in the day."

He hustled them out of the bar, and she felt a bit like a little kid who'd gotten scolded for fighting in the grocery store. Rob saw the car, and his jaw dropped. "The Impala.... Where did...? Kei?"

"Stop calling me--" She let it go. "I found it in a junkyard. It's a long story. But, I've been tracking my--_*our*_ father. There's nothing to say what happened to him. A bunch of stories--ghost stories--but not a lot of real facts."

Rob walked over to the car, and she followed. He moved along side it, running his hands over its surface. She smiled. It'd had that effect on her, too.

"Where was it?" John asked.

She continued to watch Rob, but answered, "Idaho... The man said there was someone who dropped it off. They were out of it, hurt, or something. Was that you?" She looked up at him.

He was frowning. "I still can't remember some things... Lost my memory, and only started to get it back earlier this year."

"How did it happen?"

"Black magic... maybe."

She chewed on the inside of her lip. Rob turned from the car, one hand still on its hood. "Who was your mom?"

"Cassie Robinson."

Rob looked blank, but John started a little. "I think I know that name," he said, "I..." He sort of smiled at her. "Yeah... I thought you looked familiar."

She swallowed. Something about that, more than words told her Dean's feelings for her mother. That helped. Even if it was just salt on the wound.

Her little brother grinned, suddenly, and asked, "Can I take her for a spin?"

"She's a girl, huh?" Keira teased.

He kept right on grinning, so she shook her head and handed him the keys. "Just this once, little bro."

- - -

Jo wasn't at all jealous. She was kind and thoughtful, and hospitable. It was a little awkward, anyhow, but after a couple hours of getting to know each other, that went away.

Rob never ceased to tease, and she was kinda digging it. She'd always wanted a little brother or sister. Bobby was great, all gritty and full of good humor. Sam--or John--was quiet... but when he laughed, it was something to be waited for.

The "adults" finally went off to their respective beds, and only Keira and Rob were left. "So, what're your plans, Kei?"

She rolled her eyes at him, but after a moment in which she sipped her coffee and thought, she said, "I don't know... You know the car? I can't see giving it up, but I get the feeling it's not gonna wanna go back to Missouri."

"You know, we should take a trip together somewhere. Like Kansas. I hear some weird stuff happens there."

She blinked at him, wanting to smile but holding back because of what had just occurred to her. "You mean... a road trip?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe just for a few weeks. We'll see the sights, or something. Kill a few monsters on the way." Now he was grinning.

"Oh, you're teasing again," she said.

"No, no," he answered, quickly, then paused, leaned forward like he was uncomfortable. "We'd be good together. It'd help us catch up, you know?" She knew he was talking about more than just catching up. He was talking about the life that had taken her father away to the road, and possibly to death. The life that was becoming more and more eerily appealing....

"What about John? Aren't you his partner? What's he gonna do without you?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, gave a nervous laugh. "You're probably right..."

She smiled. He was still a kid, planning too far ahead. Out in the yard, the moonlight hit the Impala, and she blinked. "Hey... Robbie..."

He looked up at her, then saw her staring and followed her gaze. Next to the car, leaning against the hood, was someone, someone who was watching them. He had his arms folded over his chest, and his booted ankles crossed over each other. His hair was short, and he wore a leather jacket. He looked like he was smirking.

"Kei... that..."

She put her mug down and stood up, already reaching for her ever-present revolver. The man moved away from the car, but just stood there, watching. He was stocky, bowlegged. He wasn't smiling anymore.

And then he was gone.

Rob took her arm and pulled her inside, even though she resisted. He shut and looked the door, and leaned his back against it. When she looked him in the face, she realized he was pale. "You okay?"

He nodded. "That was our dad. I'm sure of it."

"But... " Wasn't he dead?

"I don't know." Rob shook his head, didn't quite look her in the eye.

And for the first time she thought, _'What if it wasn't Sam who left the Impala at the junkyard?'_

- - -

John realized his niece was staying for awhile. Longer than she'd first planned anyway. He wanted her to leave, to go back to a safer life, but it didn't take seeing her and Rob sparring in the front yard to make him realize that wasn't going to happen.

They were like two puppies, learning how to fight like grown dogs. It was amusing and frightening to think about.

"Wait, wait, wait," he called, and stepped in when they paused. "You're wide open with that stance, Keira. Drop your center of gravity a bit more, and remember to keep up your arms. Hunch your torso a little. That's right."

He moved away again, and the sparring commenced. "Stop... Stop!" he called a few minutes later. "Rob. That sucked." Rob looked like he knew it. "If it was me and not Keira, you think you'd get away with that?"

"Hey," she protested, but he didn't stop the lecture.

"Protect your face, protect your diaphragm. If you can't keep your arms up, I'm going to make you do push ups."

Keira started to giggle, and he gave her a look. She stopped. As he walked a pace away, he heard her whisper to Rob, "He's serious huh? I'm afraid to think what _*his*_ dad was like."

_'Man, Dean, we were raised like warriors.'_ He smiled to himself, but wiped it clean from his face before he turned around again. After all this time, he was finally beginning to understand.

- - -

_A year later._

"I'm telling you, take a right!"

"Rob, just-- I _*can't*_ take a right, okay? The stupid car won't let me!"

"Well where in the heck is it going?" he yelled back, and she pursed her lips at him and glared.

Her hands were on the wheel, but actually, it was spinning around on its own. "Okay, all right. Sorry. Sheesh." He muttered something else that sounded like "I'll shut up now," but it didn't matter.

She was going to stay annoyed with him for at least until the Impala stopped driving itself. It finally came to a halt in front of an old cemetery, and the siblings exchanged a weirded out glance. "I'm not getting out," she said, flatly.

Rob chuckled. "Last one to an interesting grave... gets to shine the car." He darted out, and she followed.

She chased him and his long legs all the way to the middle of the graveyard. Then they both slowed to a stop, completely forgetting all about their game. "Hey, kids."

He was in his early thirties, short brown hair, a twinkle in his green eyes. He didn't quite smile as he rested his gaze on each of them. Rob spoke first, "Dad?"

Dean motioned toward the grave he was standing beside. They looked.

_'Dean Winchester. Died 2010. Hero.'_

"You don't really think about life until it's gone," he said. "Or until you lose someone. Don't think I haven't missed you, both of you. I made a lot of mistakes. My worst one wasn't being there. I'm sorry..." He smiled, and it trembled a little. "But I'm a proud of you, kids. Don't ever stop looking for a better life."

The sunlight hit him, and he was gone. Keira half-covered her face and cried. Rob crouched next to the grave and ran his fingers over the lettering. "He died saving someone," he murmured.

He was right. Why else would they have bothered to put his name and such an inscription? Keira sniffed and wiped her nose. "You want to look at the library?"

"Nah... No," he said, and got to his feet. "Come on. Dad's not here, anyway." She took his arm and leaned against him for a moment then let him walk ahead of her.

"Anyway," he called back, when he'd reached the Impala, "I beat you." He was grinning.

"I dare you to get out and run," she said, and slid into the seat. "See who beats who then."

- end -


End file.
